Morrison Hotel
by suspect tomatoes
Summary: Everything must be this way. Morrison/Melina.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I actually can't stand that Morrison impersonates... well, **_**Morrison**_** but I came up with this just by talking about it today and I think it's gonna stick. Title and summary credit to the all powerful The Doors. Nitro days, by the way.  
**

"Have you ever realized you strike a resemblance to Jim Morrison?"

Johnny up from tying his wrestling boots and glanced at Melina, a tiny frown on his face. "What are you talking about?"

"You do." She stood up and sauntered over to him, placing herself gracefully in his lap. She touched his cheek. "You have the same bone structure."

He scoffed slightly and pushed her off, walking toward the locker room mirror. His steps slowed as he watched his reflection. "I don't look like him."

"You do!" She bent down, going through his bag. "Where's your laptop? I'll prove it."

"Melina, don't go through my things—"

She pulled it out anyway, waiting patiently as it loaded. "I'm not joking—I've noticed it lately, when your hair hasn't been slicked back."

Johnny kept staring at himself, his head tilted slightly. He shrugged. "I don't see it."

She was already clicking away, pretty face illuminated by the blue of the computer screen. She wagged her finger at him, eyes never straying. "You will. I promise."

"Mel, we need to go out soon—"

"Here!" She turned the entire laptop toward him, pointing at the picture. "Doesn't it look exactly like you?"

Johnny sat beside her on the couch and took the computer, frowning when he saw Jim with his arms spread, face serious. He did notice the similarities—the eyes, the lips, the cheekbones.

He shook his head, pushing it back.

"You don't see it?"

He barely heard her, catching himself in the mirror again. The twenty-seven year old staring back wasn't Johnny Nitro. It was the possibility of a different man—all he'd need was a pair of sunglasses and a different hair style.

"Johnny?"

"You know what?" He turned around, nodding. "I kind of see it now."

"You do?"

"Yeah." He nodded again, running his fingers against his jaw line. "With some work."

"Not much." She stood up and came over to him, eyes sparkling. "Just wash your hair. And lose the coat."

He grinned at her playfully, catching her around the waist. "And what are you going to do?"

She looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you have to look like Pam, don't you?" He tugged her hair. "You need to dye this red and lose about ten pounds."

She gasped and slapped his chest, but he caught her before she could get away. "Don't you touch me, Johnny Nitro!" she squealed.

"No, no." He flipped his hair back, liking the way it fell. "It's John Morrison."

**A/N: This is the just the beginning. Sorry about the length. Review.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I wanted to put pieces from _Riders on the Storm _in here but I figured that was a copyright infringement waiting to happen.  
**

"John."

John barely heard his name being called as he sat half-dressed, engrossed in a biography about Jim Morrison. He'd picked it up at the book store on his way into town, and he hadn't put it down since he pulled into the back parking lot of the arena. It was just too interesting—he was Morrison's age already, and he'd barely done anything that could live up to the standard of becoming him.

"_John_."

His birthday was in less than four months, and then he'd be twenty-eight. He was going to get older and forgotten, while Jim stayed young and famous forever. How could he pull off being a star when he barely had anything to his name?

"_John_!"

John finally looked up at Melina. He could tell she was pissed just by the way her mouth twisted while her hands were on her hips. "What?" he asked dazedly.

"You need to get _ready_."

"Oh." John looked at the cover quickly, then at the page. "I've got one more paragraph before—"

"No." She plucked it from his hands and thumped it closed, tossing it onto the coffee table in front of him. "Get dressed, fix your hair, and meet me outside."

John watched his girlfriend leave, and he sighed, leaning over to snag the book. He'd just gotten to the part about Jim's wacky relationship with Pam, and how they loved each other, but they weren't exactly loyal. He couldn't begin to imagine how fucking pissed Melina would be if he cheated on her.

The door opened again, Melina standing there with her mouth open. "Put the _book _down!"

"Melina, I'm almost—"

"I'm not going to get in trouble because _your_ sorry ass decided to learn how to read. We're supposed to be in the ring in _five minutes_."

"Melina, seriously—"

"I bet _Morrison_ never read while he was supposed to be getting ready for shows. Aren't you emulating him?"

"Well, yeah, but—"

"Then _put the book down_ and get _ready_!" She went to slam the door, but she stopped, turning back to him. "I mean it, John."

He cringed as she shut the door so hard it bounced back, staying open just a crack. He sighed and got up to change, but his eyes fell to the brunette standing in the doorway.

"Hiya, John."

He sighed again, dropping his book onto the couch. "Hey, Mickie."

"What's the matter?"

He shook his head. "Nothing you need to worry about."

"Come on, John. Tell me. I won't tell, I promise."

He smiled weakly, waving her away. "No, really. I just need to get ready."

"Do you have a drug problem?"

John looked up quickly, blinking at the innocent girl before him. "Huh?"

"Drugs. Do you do drugs?"

"I, uh—no. No."

"Oh." She pouted slightly.

He glanced away awkwardly. "Why?"

She looked up, smiling. "I do."

He blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I don't mean like... hard drugs." She leaned in closer. "Can you keep a secret?"

"Uh... Yeah. I guess."

"I like pot." She grinned. "Do you?"

"I... I haven't smoked since I was a teenager."

"Oh. Well, you should."

"Won't you get in trouble?"

"Not if you don't get caught." She winked. "Good luck with your match!"

* * *

"You weren't supposed to kick me in the _head_, John." Melina frowned prettily and pressed the ice pack against her head. "That _wasn't _supposed to _happen_."

"I _know_, Melina. I already apologized."

"Now, I have a bump." She touched it gingerly, wincing. "Is it bleeding?"

He pushed her hair back slightly. "No. You're good."

"Thank God." She glared at him. "You're so stupid. Where was your head?"

John sighed, crossing his arms. "I don't know. I guess I've just been stressed lately."

"Well _chill out_." She hopped down from the table she was sitting on, wobbling slightly. "I'm dizzy. I'm gonna go change and grab my stuff. Can we just go back to the hotel tonight?"

Mickie walked by and winked at John, and he couldn't help but turn his head as she sashayed down the hall.

Melina slapped his arm. "John!"

He looked back at her. "What?"

"_One_, did you even hear me? And _two_, don't check other girls out in front of me."

"I wasn't! I... She's a friend."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm going to get my stuff. You'll be waiting here?"

"Yes." He kissed her forehead. "I really am sorry."

She smiled slightly. "I guess I can forgive you."

"Great." He grinned. "I'll be here. Hurry back."

John watched Melina hurry off toward the locker room, leaving him with absolutely nothing as he leaned on the wall. He almost wished he'd gone with her to grab his book, but another minute with her and he might've blown his top. He loved her with all his heart, he really did, but there was just something about her lately that was pissing him off.

"Morrison."

The husky voice made him smile and he turned, looking down at Mickie. "Hey, Mickie."

She giggled, crossing her arms as she grinned up at him. "What are you doing?"

He glanced at the wall and thumped against it. "Leaning."

She laughed. "Hilarious, Morrison."

"I'm glad you call me Morrison. It's still Nitro for everyone else."

"Well, maybe I just want you to like me more."

John cocked his head, eyes flashing. "Well, maybe it's working."

Her laugh was throaty, her head falling back as it came out of her. She moved toward him slightly. "What are you doing right now?"

"Right now?" He glanced over his shoulder. "Why?"

"I'm gonna go get lit," she whispered. Her eyes danced. "Wanna join me?"

"Well, I—" He looked behind him again and stared down the empty hallway. Melina was gonna be back any minute. He knew he shouldn't go with her, but he—

"Come on_, Morrison_." She tugged his hand. "Live up to your name."

John looked back at Mickie. She was right. If he wanted to be Morrison, he should do a lot more than just change his hair and name.

And besides, Melina _had_ told him to chill out.

"Come on," Mickie coaxed. "Be _bad_."

John growled and put his arm around her neck. "Where's your car?"

**A/N: Just wanna say right now I don't know nor care if Mickie James does drugs/smokes pot. I don't even like her that much but she's the first girl that came to mind. Review.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: To answer someone's question: This is Morrison/Melina like Morrison/Pam. They cheated on each other, they fucked each other over, but they stuck together. **

**Got high with my brother. This is what I got.**

**

* * *

**

"This is the one and _only_ time I'm going to forgive you, John Morrison." Melina glanced back at her trailing boyfriend as she hurried down the hall. "I don't like it when you make me look _stupid_."

"Baby, who _cares_ about what people think?"

"Are you still high?" She faced forward again, whipping her hair back. "You're disgusting. You better hope they're not testing tonight."

"Baby, can you just stop thinking with someone else's mind?" He grabbed her arm and spun her, face turned up to the ceiling. "Can't you just _feel this_?"

"Are you just smoking pot?" She wrenched her arm away, eyes darkening. "What else are you on?"

He shrugged. "It's just some acid, baby. No big deal."

"No big _deal_?" She turned away, pressing her manicured fingers to her lips. She looked back at him. "Are you insane?"

"No, I'm free." He grinned helplessly, eyes hidden by his aviators. He shook his hair back. "Will you trip with me, baby?"

"Absolutely not, John. I'm not getting fired because of you."

"I would die for you, Melina." He took her hand, lower lip protruding. "Come on, baby. Just trip with me."

"_No,_ John! I have a match tonight!"

"It'll be more intense, more influential. It'll be more _experienced_." He reached into his pocket, taking out the tiny heart tin Mickie had given to him.

"What is that?" Melina whispered.

He flipped his hand up in front of her face, acid stuck to his index finger. There was a tiny palm tree on it. "Come for a ride, baby," he crooned.

She shook her head. "This isn't right, John."

"Who determines what's right?" He wagged it in front of her, smirking. "I want to do this together. Let's make love under the stars, or swim in the ocean at midnight."

Melina swallowed hard, looking up at him. "You're so high right now."

"You should be, too." He pulled her closer. "Come with me, baby. Take this trip with me and never come back."

"But I want to come back," she whimpered.

"No one wants to come back." His voice was low, a hushed whispered. "It's why we're all so eager to die."

"I'm not, John—"

"Come with me, Melina. Share this with me."

She looked at his finger, then up at him. It was a second or two before she finally closed her eyes and opened her mouth, sliding her tongue out sensually.

The stars exploded the second he placed that tab on it.

* * *

"Isn't this wonderful?" John rolled away from her, laughing. The grass was so cold and everywhere around them was dark. He could hear the ocean dancing every once in a while.

"The grass is soft," Melina murmured.

"Oh, Melina, I love you." John jumped to his feet and paraded around her, smiling at her laughter. He hopped over her body, bending down to her face. "Dance with me!"

"No, John, I'm too—"

"Get up! Dance with me. Tear off your clothes, surrender your body to the moonlight." He grabbed her hands and tripped back, falling. They were up a second later, swinging around. "Let's _swim_ to the _moo-oon­_, ah ­_ha_!"

Melina giggled, spinning with him.

"Let's _ride_, through the _tide_." He broke away and faced the starry sky, feeling the cold breeze hit his face. "_Pen_e­_trate_ the _evening_ that the _city_, _sleeps_, to hide."

"What are you saying?" she whispered.

"I'm singing, beautiful!" ­He spun until he fell, feet over his head, laughing. "I'm singing my love songs for you."

"John. John, where are you?"

He writhed against the silky grass, smiling. "We should forget our careers—leave everything behind, move to the forest. I want to write poetry with the trees."

"John! John, where _are_ you?"

"It'd feel so nice to just let go." He rolled over, letting his body melt into the earth. "I just want to let go of everything, take my soul out of my pocket and let it lead me somewhere else."

"_John_!" Melina screeched.

He looked up, blinking. "What's the matter, baby?"

"_John_, where _are_ you?" She collapsed against the ground, gripping it. "John! _John_!"

"I'm here, baby, I'm here." He crawled over to her, fell onto her shivering body. He pushed her sweaty hair back. "Don't cry. I'm here."

"John. I'm scared. You weren't there."

"No, no, I was." He held her close. "Come on, baby, get through this."

"John, I want to go back."

"No, you don't."

"John, I want to go back!"

He shushed her, pressing his face to her hair. "You're just scared. You're grounded—your spirit's shackled to the concrete. Let it all go."

"No. No, John, I'm scared. I want to go. I want to leave."

"We can leave anytime you want to."

"I want to leave _now_."

He pulled back, looked down at her eyes reflecting the moon. "Would you die right now, Melina?"

She shook her head. "No. No, I don't want to die."

"Would you die to leave?"

"No. John, I want to go back. To... to the hotel. I don't like this. I'm scared."

"Just let go," he whispered.

"Just take me back!" Tears slid down her cheeks. "_Please_."

He gripped her hair tightly, pressing his mouth to her ear. "I would die for you, Melina. Remember that."

"I know, John." She gasped, sobbing. "That's what scares me the most."

**A/N: Just to reiterate their relationship. Review.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Edge got injured because of Jeff fucking Hardy. I'm having a drug relapse right now. I toked nine bowls early this morning to get this. And I wish I was tripping. I really do.  
**

John was spinning.

He could feel it in his lungs, the air he breathed became the air he saw, all the colors swirling together to form some wasted land he wanted to venture across. The desert was hot and the faces he saw weren't welcoming.

He wanted to feel Melina, he wanted her skin to be warm on his fingertips.

There was a man in front of him, and his eyes were bright, he said, "You're welcome, son" and then disappeared.

He opened his eyes a second later, and realized his head was under water.

He screamed and threw his head back, drops flying all over the locker room, and fell against the counter.

"Morrison?"

John looked toward the doorway, still a little groggy, trying to smile at the friend standing there. "Hey, Mickie. How's... How's it going?"

He could've sworn her hair was moving by itself, but her smile melted the sun, and she moved closer. "Hiya. Whatcha doin'?"

John pressed his hand to his forehead, trying to catch his breath. "Having a bad trip, I think."

"You don't know?" She bounced over. "John, what do I look like?"

He looked down at her, her eyes reflecting the light, like a diamond, greens and blues and yellows and reds. He wanted to reach out and grab one, make sure it was real.

But he just bent down and kissed her. "Good."

She kissed him back and pushed him roughly, against the counter, against the wall, falling onto the sofa. He wasn't even responding anymore, just writhing against the soft leather, feeling her fire-laced kisses trail down his tight neck, his warm chest. Her mouth touched his belt buckle and all he could do was laugh.

The door opened.

He heard a gasp, but he was laughing so hard he just couldn't stop. He felt like his lungs were trying to break free, fly away with his soul and laugh from the heavens down onto him.

"John," Melina breathed. "I can't _believe you_!"

Mickie looked up and her hair went crazy again, reaching out to touch him, sliding against his face, touching his eyes. She smiled. "Melina, it's really nothing to worry about. He's just having a bad trip."

Melina looked like she was going to boil over, her hands clenching at her sides. "Bad _trip_! I don't give a _fuck_ about his trip!"

John rolled and groaned, closing his eyes. "Baby, you don't need to yell. You don't need to say anything. Just come here and let me feel you."

"Go _fuck_ yourself, John Morrison."

The door slammed and the laughter came again, bursting like stars.

Mickie was still smiling, but her hair was a monster. "You don't have to, John. You have me."

"Aren't I a lucky guy," he mumbled, eyes closed.

* * *

There was a bed. He saw movement, felt a woman's hand, down his leg, up his thigh. Her voice was a breathy whisper and she told him to do this and do that, how she liked it, what she wanted.

The man was back, he was wearing a hat this time, and he took it off because he was a respectable guy. "You're welcome, son."

John wasn't in the bed, he was in the air, feeling the breeze coming in the through the open window. He turned to the guy and frowned.

"Hours to die, sleep in the sea," the man said quietly. "You're welcome, son."

John smiled. "Who are you, man?"

"Smell the daisies before the sun rises, your last breath is between mother nature's fingers."

John opened his eyes.

Mickie stretched next to him. "Good morning."

He glanced at her, swallowing hard. "Why am I here?"

"You don't remember?" Mickie pursed her lips. "Your trip must've been terrible. You poor baby."

He moved when she tried to touch him. "Where's Melina?"

Mickie sat up. "The last time I saw her was last night."

"I gotta find her." John got out of bed and fell, hitting his head against the carpet. The room was still turning. "I gotta find her, Mickie, I gotta find her."

"Why?" she asked, but her tone was impatient, bored.

"Because I'll die." John rocked himself, clutching his knees. "Because I'll die without her."

**A/N: Jeff Hardy's downfall will be mine. Review.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: A tad short, but extremely trippy.**

"Melina?"

He was wandering aimlessly, without a purpose. With no direction, he fell into step with everyone else. He was lost in a crowd, in a jungle. He had to cut down trees just to find the patch of sunlight waiting for him.

But she wasn't there.

"Melina?"

He grabbed people's shoulders and read their eyes, and moved on when he didn't see her there. Some were stagehands and some were friends of his, friends that stared at his unblinking gaze and realized he didn't recognize them.

Who was this man? This man who walked around with a limp in his step, his eyes searching empty hallways and dark pockets in the light of day?

"Melina? Melina."

He found a door, a door with DIVAS written on it, a door to his love. It was locked though, and he pounded on it, trying to get to her. She was removed from him, from his side, and he felt so empty.

"Melina, it's Johnny." He pressed his ear to the door and heard giggling. His palm hit the wood. "Melina, please open up."

Her laughter was music notes, and they flew out from the cracks, dancing in front of him before they disappeared into dust.

"Melina, come on, it's Johnny. Your Johnny. I can hear you in there, please, Melina, just open up. Please."

His hand started hitting harder, bruising, bleeding. "_Melina_! Open the _goddamn door_. I need you, Melina, I _need_ you."

His face turned and he smashed his nose against the coldness of it, closing his eyes. He banged it once more. "Melina. Please. Open up."

And there she was.

The angel, the savior, the patiently waiting saint.

"I'm right here, Johnny," she whispered.

He turned to her then looked at the door. "But, I heard you—"

She shushed him, and pushed the hand that was pointing at the room down. But she didn't linger, didn't long for his touch the way he did her. She just crossed her arms and watched him.

He swayed slightly. "I'm so sorry, baby."

She tapped her foot.

"Honestly. I can't... I can't live without you," he whispered hoarsely. His knees gave out and he was soaring, soaring to the ground, hands wrapping around her middle, around her thighs. He pressed his face against her warm skin and melted into her.

"Johnny, you're making a fool of yourself," she hissed.

"Baby, don't you hear your love? It's crying inside of you. Your voice is weak, it's strangled by all this hate. Forgive me, baby, so you can speak again. _Please_."

"Why should I ever forgive you?" She looked down at him. "You've cheated on me, not once, but _twice_. Twice, Johnny. How do you come back from something like that?"

"We... We can't." He got to his feet, a wave crashing in the ocean, and stumbled. "But that's just one door."

Melina covered her eyes. "You're not making any sense."

"No, baby, look at me. It's only one door. And there are _thousands _of other doors out there." He moved like a ribbon, swaying and dipping and falling all over. He opened the door across from them, to an empty room. "This... This door could be the one that leads to our lives together, married with children and living in Santa Barbara."

Melina stared at him as he opened another one.

"This one could be our lives living in a one bedroom apartment with no food in the refrigerator. But we're happy, baby, we're happy and we're in love because that's what _takes_ us to these places."

Melina frowned. "I don't know."

"You don't need to _know_, baby." He floated over to her and grabbed her hands. "You don't need to use your brain, baby. Use your _soul_, use your imagination. Let your spirit lift up and cry out for you. It's the only truth you'll ever speak."

Melina's eyes were shaking. "What are you on right now?"

He shook his head until she stopped it with her hands.

"What are you _on_ right now?" she whispered.

"Nothing. I just... I just smoked before I came here. That's it, baby, I swear."

She stared at him, silent.

"But... but if I have to, I'll stop this. I'll stop all of this, this charade of this character I want to be. I will, Melina, for you. Anything. I'll stop time, I'll stop the rains, I'll stop the earth from spinning. I'll make the sun stop shining, I'll make the moon say it's teary good-byes."

She bit her lip.

"Just _please_... _please_ don't leave me." He lifted his hands and touched her shoulders, her hair under his fingers. "You're my soul mate, Melina. Without you, I'm nothing but a shadow."

Melina let out a choked breath. "Do you mean that, John Morrison?"

"I mean that, baby, more than anything."

She wound her arms around his neck. "I knew you'd come back."

"Like a butterfly, baby." He held her tightly. "Like a butterfly."

**A/N: Wow. Review.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Okay. So a while ago I tripped, and I like... died or something. I don't know. So what I put Morrison through in this chapter happened to me, and I'm just trying to make sense of it all, I guess. It was **_**fucked up**_**.**

Another door opened, and he walked through it.

Melina went to visit her parents on her day off, so John took up the opportunity to trip as much as he could before she came back. His intentions weren't to deceive her, but it just happened to end up like that. He couldn't control it, his soul was crying, scratching at his throat, "Let me out! Let me be free!"

He took two hits of acid and sat in the grass in the backyard.

Tripping alone was never fun, nor was it smart, but John had no one else to do it with. Mickie was god knows where, and Melina wouldn't really be into seeing Mickie board a plane to go to his house.

But it was times that he was alone that he felt the freest.

Nothing had happened yet, so he sat back and waited, felt the wind tickle his skin. He stared up at the sky and the sun winked at him, told him to expect a warm day.

John just wished it would rain. He hated tripping when it was hot.

He sighed and ran his fingers across the grass, watching the blades swing back into place. It was usually starting by now. He'd feel his skin radiating, see his fingers trail in the air.

He searched around for the bag it came in.

He probably got jipped. He'd bought this from Mickie's friend, someone he's never gotten it from before, and it was probably bunk because the guy was an asshole. He knew he'd gotten a bad feeling from him, his aura was a dark color. There was just—

John's head rushed, a train bearing down. He looked around, found the trees smiling. The grass was a green pool, his hands disappeared when he touched it.

He smiled and laid back, disappearing into the dark.

His eyes opened when he heard something snap.

His house was gone. The grass was an electric blue, fog rolling in like silver air. He couldn't breathe, the smoke was getting to him, so he stood, and found himself stumbling into metal.

He looked up.

A train, maybe from the fifties, pulsating red and yellow. There was a man standing by the door, he was pointing, John, the train, John.

"I don't have a ticket, man," John said with a smile.

The man pointed again. And again.

John looked down. He was wearing a jacket, a brown jacket, an old jacket, corduroy worn and faded. There were patches on the elbows. He reached into the pocket and found a one way ticket, no words, just red and white and blue.

The man folded his fingers, once, twice.

John made a step, found his foot stuck to the ground, pulling up sticky mud and grass, like gum. Everything around him was melting.

"I... I can't, man." John tried to move, but the jacket bit his arms, kept them inside the pockets. He jerked slightly. "I'm... I'm stuck."

The door beside the guy opened, shifted loudly, a creak, a thunk. Two steps, three steps, the man with the hat was back, he smiled and came over.

John could feel his breath coming out, then he saw it, crystallized pieces of his soul falling to the ground. They were swallowed up by the sea.

The man took off his hat. "Smell the daisies, son."

John frowned. He felt tears in his eyes, slicing down his cheeks. He saw the blood drip off his nose before he felt it. "What, man?"

"Smell the daisies, three fingers left."

"I don't understand, man."

"Smell the daisies before the sun rises," he said, and turned to go.

"Wait!" John struggled against his clothes. "I don't get it! Come back! _Please_!"

"You'll see yourself looking back at you—the mirror's been smashed."

John fell to his knees, the hands of the earth gripping them tightly. "Come back, please! I don't want to be alone!"

"Jagged pieces of your soul lay awake in the sand." The man shook his head. Took a step onto the stairs. "Find a way to keep your fingers from disintegrating."

"Don't _leave me_!" John yelled hoarsely. He hit his head against the grass repeatedly, felt the souls of the past clawing at him. "I can't be _alone_."

"One step behind, you're already in his shoes. Leave them by the door, you can't get mud on the floor."

"I don't under_stand_!" He was crying now, real tears, tears that reflected the light around him.

The man smiled and dropped his hat. He took another step up and disappeared, millions of pieces, a soul tornado. It swept past John, bit his ear, ruffled his hair.

He felt his body tense, then nothing.

* * *

Light. Flutter. Songs.

John opened his eyes slowly, blinking twice. The sun was peaking from its hiding place, giggling and retreating. The sky was blue, blue as the ocean, as God's eyes. He sat up and shook his head, turning over to find his right side numb.

He coughed, spat, felt his hair.

Where was he?

He glanced back, found his house looming, frowning at him.

He looked at the sky again.

Was the sun just coming _up_?

He groaned and felt his knees, pressed his face to them.

"Never again," he grumbled. He was sweating, mouth dry. "Two hits is too much."

He stood up wobbly, felt his dead-weight leg collapsing. He folded like a sheet in the breeze, back and over and forward, head against the ground. There were nails up and down his whole side, his only proof that he was still alive, that he was still breathing the same air as everyone else.

He staggered and ran a bit, stumbling on his feet. He needed to call Melina, to confess to what he did. He needed to tell her that he was sorry, that he would never do that again. He needed to—

Grass.

His feet flipped over his head, his neck snapping, eyes blinding for a second. He rolled and hit the bushes, thorns against his bare shoulders and arms, face in the dirt.

He groaned and lifted his neck with his hand, heavy with injury. He turned and stared at the ground.

A black derby sat, untouched, clean as day.

John crawled toward it, hand on his mouth, mud smeared on his face. It was real, he touched the felt, ran his thumb along the brim.

He turned to the house, the hat between his fingers, and saw the man standing in his doorway, smiling.

He waved, and John blinked.

Gone.

He pressed a hand to his face. "I'm still tripping. I have to be."

_Smell the daisies before the sun rises_.

It hit him like a truck, first in the gut, then the head, pounding relentlessly until he fell to his knees. The bushes he'd fallen into before had white petals pushing out between the leaves.

He parted them like a sea, hat pressed between his fingers.

A group of daisies, hidden and frightened, cowered from him.

He bent his head to smell.

But the sun hit the side of his face, blinded him, orange and bright.

_Too late_.

**A/N: The words exchanged were added for the story, but everything else – aside from the smelling the daisies and finding the hat – was real. Except the guy wasn't this one – it was **_**Jim Morrison**_**. I'm still having nightmares about it, especially since I saw that medium. Don't do drugs, kids. Just say no. Review.**


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